The Good Thief's Guide to Venice (23 page)

‘Who are you?’ His Italian accent was strong, but he spoke at a measured pace and his voice had taken on a soft, coaxing tone, the kind that befits a man with plentiful experience of seducing women.

‘That’s not important,’ I told him, trying to regain the upper hand.

‘You are English,’ he sneered, as if our nationality was insult enough. ‘Both of you.’

‘That won’t get you very far.’ I took a contemplative draw on my cigarette. ‘There are plenty of English people in Venice.’

He curled his lip, like he was trying a smirk on for size. It suited him very well. He was the type of man who was used to looking down on others. He’d spent a lifetime enjoying the sensation.

‘I know who you work for,’ he told me, with a snarl. ‘He is a smart man, I am told. A clever opponent. But this I did not expect.’

‘You’ve lost me I’m afraid.’

He grinned drunkenly, eyes lazy and hooded – as if he was calculating what punishment he’d exact the instant this was over. ‘You even speak like him.’

‘Listen, pal,’ I said, jabbing my finger in his direction, ‘we don’t work for anyone. So you can stop gurning and start telling us who you’re talking about. Is he the one who tried to kill you?’

‘To kill me?’ he frowned, as if he didn’t trust the words.

‘With the bomb. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about that.’

A new expression seeped into his face, scornful and lofty. I didn’t like it a great deal. It had all the appeal of slow poison.

‘The bomb,’ he repeated, as if I was a simpleton. ‘To kill me.’

‘Yes, the bomb,’ Victoria cut in, throwing up her hands. ‘The bloody big explosion in your palazzo. You do remember, don’t you? It was meant to blow you and your silly little smile into a million tiny pieces.’

He watched Victoria for a moment, mouthing her words back to himself. Then he chuckled. The chuckle turned into a self-satisfied laugh. He slouched in his chair as if he was mighty comfortable all of a sudden. His manner was so relaxed that I had to fight the urge not to walk around and check that his hands and feet were still secured.

‘
Allora
…’ He grinned. ‘So it’s true, you don’t work for him.’ He tipped his head back and lifted his chin in the air so that the track of blood on his neck was clearly visible, glistening in the electric light like a scald mark that had only recently healed.

I’d just about had my fill of him by now. I flicked my cigarette off into a distant corner of the room and did my best to crowd him, blowing the last of my smoke into his face.

‘Who do you mean? You mean a large guy, full beard? Wears a camel-hair coat and a fedora?’

‘No,’ he said, smiling even wider, not even blinking as the smoke enveloped him. I got the impression that if his hands hadn’t been tied behind him, he’d have been airily considering his nails. ‘This is not who I mean. And I am beginning to think that you are of little concern to me.’

‘We hold you prisoner and you think that, huh?’

He shrugged. Pouted. ‘You have already told me you will not hurt me.’

I spun round to face Victoria. ‘Where’s your stun gun?’ I asked.

‘
Charlie
.’

‘No, I’m serious, I’ve had enough of this guy. I think maybe we should fry his face.’

‘What about Graziella?’ Victoria asked him. Just by posing the question, she’d gone further than we’d planned. It had been my intention to keep Graziella’s name out of it – at least for the time being – but not any more. ‘You know, the girl who accompanied you to the casino the night of the explosion,’ Victoria went on. ‘Are you aware that she asked us to kill you?’

That seemed to affect him. He frowned, as if confounded by the question, his lips moving soundlessly.

‘
Aspetta
,’ he muttered, his voice tight all of a sudden. He flexed the muscles of his right arm and lowered his head, as if to consult his watch. When he realised that he couldn’t, he gazed up into my eyes. ‘You must tell me the time.’

‘Excuse me?’

There was a wavering in his pupils – a look of genuine concern. Something told me he was worried about more than a missed dinner date. ‘The time,’ he pressed. ‘I must know it. Tell me. Now.’

‘Listen, friend, I really think you might have forgotten the situation you’re in. Talk to us about Graziella.’

‘Is it later than nine o’clock? Just tell me this. It is a simple question.’

I placed my hands on my hips and glared at him. The glaring didn’t seem to affect his attitude. He was used to people doing as he said, and damn if I didn’t find myself doing exactly that.

‘It’s a quarter after ten,’ I said, going down on one knee to check my watch in the light from the lamp.

The information caused a small crack in his defence. He swallowed dryly.

‘Then you must release me.’ His voice was grave, as if the matter was of the utmost importance. ‘Immediately.’

‘Er, not likely. Not until you answer our questions, in any event.’

‘
Immediately
,’ he barked, teeth bared, spittle clinging to his lips.

I turned and smiled up at Victoria. Her eyes glimmered from behind her mask.

‘And why’s that?’ she asked, placing a hand on her hip.

The Count curled his lip and stared down at the ropes we’d wrapped around his chest and arms. He flexed his biceps. Then he grunted and tried to kick his feet away from the legs of his chair. It was futile, but he stuck at it. It didn’t look all that dignified, or sound it, either.

‘Tick tock,’ I said, and tapped my watch. ‘What’s bothering you so much? You have an important appointment?’

He wasn’t listening to me as closely as I might have liked. He was fighting his restraints, fidgeting and gnashing his teeth as if we were no longer in the room watching over him. His face was ruddy, speckled with perspiration. I stepped forward and clenched his shoulder. I had to pinch hard before he gave any indication that he was bothered by it.

‘Listen, we’ll make you a deal,’ I said. ‘You tell us what’s vexing you so much and we’ll release you. We’ll let you go.’

He growled and tried to bite my hand. I snatched it free just as his teeth scraped my skin.

‘Nuh uh,’ I said. ‘Now, you play nice and I promise you – I give you my word – that if you tell us what the problem is, you’ll be a free man.’

His head jerked upright and he considered me with watchful eyes. I could see the rage burning deep within them.

‘Time’s moving on,’ I told him. ‘So how about it? Will you trust us?’

He checked on Victoria once more, then glanced down at his lap, concealing his face as if overcome with shame. ‘The casino,’ he muttered, in a voice that could barely be heard. ‘I must be there.’

‘See,’ I told him, and patted his cheek, ‘that wasn’t so hard now, was it?’

Never trust a crook. It’s a simple lesson, but it’s one worth bearing in mind. I might have been an amateur in the art of kidnapping, but I was an experienced thief, and I was used to cheating people. So I had no qualms about lying to the Count. Hell, if I was in the business of keeping my word, I’d have been responsible for shooting the chap by now. Point was, I didn’t want him to die. I didn’t need his death on my conscience (nor, for that matter, my police record). And if telling a whopper about releasing him would help me to find out who wanted him dead, and why, then I had no hesitation in doing it.

By the same token, I didn’t feel all that guilty about delving a hand inside my bumbag to remove Victoria’s pen, loading it with a second cartridge of chemical lullabies and sticking him in the neck. He lost consciousness instantly, just as before, and I wasted no time in removing my balaclava and setting about untying him.

‘What are you doing?’ Victoria asked, tipping her mask up onto her head and rubbing at her face.

‘I want to put him in the bedroom. He’ll be more comfortable lying down. And I’m worried about his circulation.’

‘So you’re not going to release him?’

‘Of course not,’ I said, grunting as I tackled the ropes behind his back. ‘Not yet, anyway.’

‘But what about the casino?’

‘That’s the other reason I want to get him off this chair. I’d say we’re about the same size, wouldn’t you agree?’

‘Eh?’

‘His tux,’ I said. ‘I don’t happen to own one myself, and I get the impression this casino is pretty fancy.’

‘Wait a minute – are you planning to go there?’

‘Absolutely. And you’re coming with me. Although, no offence, but I think you may need to glam up just a touch. Oh, and perhaps ditch the mask.’

Now, Victoria has many talents. She’s an excellent agent, with an eye for a great story, and she can identify plot holes at a hundred paces. She has nerve and tenacity, she’s willing to take a risk when the situation demands it and, if I’m permitted to say as much, she’s not a bad kisser. But one skill I hadn’t been aware of before, and that I could learn to appreciate, was her ability as a quick-change artist. Seriously. I’d barely had time to free the Count from his bindings, strip him down to his underwear and dump him on the bare mattress in the back bedroom by the time she was standing in the doorway in a long green dress of a stretchy material that clung to her figure the way syrup sticks to a spoon. Her figure looked undeniably good. So did her high-heeled shoes and her tasteful make-up and the way she’d tied her hair to expose her delicate neck and shoulders. If I was the type of character who could pull off an appreciative whistle, I’d have done just that. Unfortunately, I’m more adept at looking startled and awkward.

‘Will this do?’ she asked, patting her hair.

‘Looks good,’ I managed.

‘How are you getting on? Need a hand?’

‘Funnily enough, I do. I’m not in the habit of strapping men down in bed, and I’ve been trying to work out the best way to set about it.’

I suppose I could have been disturbed by the variety of suggestions that Victoria provided me with, but I chose to focus on the positives and be grateful for her input. After a good deal of discussion, and some experimentation, we decided to dispense with any attempts to secure the Count to the mattress. Instead, we simply bound his wrists, thumbs and ankles with Victoria’s cuffs, then tied his feet to his hands with a length of rope. I was fairly pleased with the job we’d done. Flopped on his side on the stained mattress, securely trussed-up, he certainly looked like an authentic kidnap victim.

After placing the keys to the cuffs on a high chest of drawers on the far side of the room, I collected together the Count’s dress shirt, tuxedo jacket and trousers, doing my best to brush the dirt from them. Then I kicked off my baseball shoes, unclipped my bumbag and started to unbutton my fly.

‘Er, a little privacy?’

Victoria pouted. ‘Spoilsport.’

‘Go on, scram.’

She rolled her eyes and backed off from the door, and I climbed into my new outfit before moving into the bathroom to wash my face, wet my hair and assess my appearance. The jacket wasn’t too bad. A little wide in the shoulders, perhaps, but it was passable, and it was certainly made of a very fine fabric. The trousers were a trifle short, but after I’d used a damp towel to mop away the odd muddy splash, I thought they’d do nicely. The shirt was more crumpled than I would have liked, and I could have done without the fancy pleats over the chest area, but the fit was passable, especially if I didn’t attempt to wear a bow tie.

‘That won’t do,’ Victoria said, clucking her tongue as she entered the room. ‘Look, you’ve still got blood on the collar.’

She took the wet towel from me and scrubbed away at the stain.

‘It’s fine,’ I told her, reaching up to steady her hand. ‘If anyone asks, I’ll tell them I cut myself shaving.’

‘That might make more sense if you’d actually shaved today. Don’t you have a white shirt downstairs?’

‘Not the kind to wear with a suit.’

Victoria sighed, as if I was an errant child, and dabbed at a spot of dirt on the elbow of the jacket. When she was finally satisfied, she plucked a blade of grass from one of the wide lapels and rested her head on my shoulder, considering my reflection in the mirror glass.

‘Look at you,’ she said, as if I was about to embark on my graduation ceremony. ‘You don’t scrub up too bad.’

‘I could say the same of you.’

‘It’s funny,’ she said. ‘This is the first time I’ve seen you in a dinner suit. Know who you remind me of?’

‘James Bond?’

‘Nope. The guy in your author photo.’

I could see what she meant. Back when I’d first been published, and I’d been asked to submit a picture of myself, it had struck me as a good idea to send in an image of a catalogue model in a tuxedo. I had a couple of reasons. One, as a burglar, it doesn’t pay to be too recognisable. Two, as an author looking to sell some books, I figured it couldn’t hurt to be as dashing as possible. Naturally, it had led to one or two complications, not least because it had slipped my mind to come clean with Victoria until some years ago in Paris. I guessed it was a good sign that we could joke about it now, although the subject still made me uncomfortable.

‘So, shall we go?’ I asked. ‘I just need to grab a few things first. Shoes, deodorant, my overcoat, a spectacles case full of burglary tools, your espionage kit. You know, the usual.’

‘Pitch ourselves into another puzzle?’ She winked at me in the mirror. ‘Why the devil not?’

The Casinò di Venezia was located in the Palazzo Ca’ Vendramin Calergi on the Grand Canal, not more than fifteen minutes’ walk from the Count’s home. It was ironic, really, because I could have saved myself a lot of hassle if I’d known to go there sooner. Mind you, it would have lacked some of the drama if I’d simply approached the casino on foot, as opposed to sailing towards it in a stolen motor boat, gliding along the misty waters and beneath the lighted windows and restaurants that lined the canal bank.

The casino had an imposing water entrance. A long wooden jetty sheltered beneath a burgundy canopy, surrounded by painted mooring posts hung with glass lanterns that were ringed in halos of blown fog. Two security guards in burgundy jackets hollered instructions to us as we drew close, helping to secure our boat to the landing stage. One of them even offered Victoria his hand as she hitched up her dress and disembarked our grubby vessel with all the poise of a minor European royal. A red carpet led the way to the arched entrance doors ahead of us, and Victoria took my arm as we passed through to a generous reception area.